All I Really Wanted Was To Be a Serial Killer

I'd expressed my interest in being a killer for Halloween this year to anyone who would listen but not many paid much attention except a reader who emailed me a picture and said: Here, this is what one looks like.

Then Thursday I posted this on Facebook:

Two minutes later my friend Cassie was like, "I have a nurse costume you can borrow since I know you're on a budget ."

Me: Didn't you just see what I wrote?! I want to be a killer. A KILLER.

Cassie: Well the nurse costume is really hookerish. So you can be a hooker.

Me: Hooker does not equate killer. Hookers get killed, not the other way around.

Cassie: .......................

Me: Unless they kill you with an STD or something, then I guess hypothetically they "could" be considered killers.

Cassie: What is wrong with you, Annah?

Me: Nothing's wrong with me. What is wrong with you?

Cassie turned 29 on Saturday and celebrated with a wild costume party, meanwhile my parents departed for Dominican Republic and left me in care of their home plus seven dogs. So far I'm cross-eyed with exhaustion and confusion and dog poop in my hair and vomit on my shoes but I'm alive and ass-kicking to the max so I guess we're good.

When the birthday girl called to ask what I was finally going to be for her party I was all "Be? What do you mean what am I gonna be?"

Cassie: Yes, crazy. It's a costume party, remember?

Then I realized I'd completely forgotten about that minor fact and had nothing planned so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "Something scary."

Cassie: Oh brother, not this serial killer shit again.

Me: No no. Something scarier. It's a surprise, you'll see tonight.

So I mentally calculated how much time I had between volunteer work with the elderly and feeding time at the zoo to go buy something that made me look terrifying. Then I whined to my friend Leo how I didn't have a minute for anything and almost started crying because honestly guys I'm incredibly overwhelmed and he's like "Wear a straitjacket and go as yourself" but I ignored him and said "Let's just grab blankets and be ghosts!"

Leo: Huh?

Me: Yeah we get some blankets and punch two holes and we can be ghosts.

Leo: (Looking strangely excited) Where do you want me to punch the holes?

Me: In your face, asshole. The holes are for your eyes, so you can see. Like this:

Leo:  Meh. Boring. What if the holes were somewhere else like say, three holes in your blanket and one in mine?

Me: Seriously? You're such an idiot sometimes.

Leo: And you wouldn't have it any other way.

This is the part where I end things with a picture of me in my stupid ghost costume but it turns out I changed my mind two hours before the party when it dawned on me I'd be the only asshole there in white sheets bumping into everything and spilling my drink on myself as I failed to sip vodka in the dark. So I purchased a slutty sailor costume and was pretty satisfied until I got to the party and realized I'd subconsciously bought a pass for a membership to the hooker herd.

Then some dude who was slightly intoxicated came up to me and jokingly said "Hey, what are you supposed to be?" and I was all "What does it look like? A serial killer." Then he did this squinty-eye thing down at me trying to decipher whether I was serious or joking and I stared back into his dialated pupils with a serious face and he laughed and said "You're funny." But instead of smiling I sort of hissed and asked him to fetch me a drink while I stood there trying to look dignified in my hooker costume.

Little did I know three hours later he would perform an exorcism on me and violently murder a seven-month streak we like to call celibacy with nothing but his bare hands and human sword.